


Sit, Stay, Heel

by thisiswherethefishlives



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dream Sharing, M/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-25 22:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6212842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswherethefishlives/pseuds/thisiswherethefishlives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his waking hours, General Hux is no man's pet. His dreams... well, those are another story entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There are moments where Hux can almost forget how deep his loathing runs for Ren. There and gone again moments of respect or lust or something else both unfamiliar and frustrating. It’s unsettling, to say the least, because there shouldn’t be anything in Ren worth latching onto.

One doesn’t lust for their master’s hound, not without being under that same thrall… there are many things that could be said about Hux, but he's no man's dog. The rest of it… well, he’s certainly heard enough whispers to last a lifetime. 

There’s the mundane, in that he’s cold and cruel in his calculations. A machine. 

Then, of course, there’s the fantastic, in that he’s a monster or a phantom or a skin for Snoke to wear whenever he please.

Perhaps it lends credence to the rumors, but Hux has never minded that kind of infamy. It’s a comfort, rather than a hindrance, to know that he’s feared. It’s something he basks in like a lizard in the sun, ever stronger for the warmth of his crew’s fear. 

No, the only whisper against Hux’s name that has ever gone punished was snuffed out without warning. The lieutenant hadn’t seen it coming, and for that Hux will always harbor regret. If he could do it all over again, he would make sure that she knew exactly what had happened and why. He would feed her to the very hounds she had compared him to, would watch from the sidelines until nothing was left of her insolence, would bathe in the strangled savagery that only surfaces from under the deepest of pains.

If Hux could do it over again, he would make an example of her. He would show them all that the one thing he will never, ever be, is another man’s pet. Not like Ren. Nothing like Ren, with his doe-eyes and his greasy hair and the power that surges around him like the tide - chaos paired with discipline - eroding everything around it into nothingness.

It’s that power that unsettles Hux most of all. As a child, he had fantasized about having the kind of power that could bring grown men to their knees. He had wanted the force and he had wanted it badly. After years of begging and pleading, his father finally had him tested, and Hux could barely control his excitement. After all, he fancied himself on the brink of greatness and glory.

The dissapointment had been unbearable when the results had come in… 

At the time, he had been shamed by it, unable to fathom that there was something he couldn’t succeed at - something that he couldn’t beat into submission through force of will and grit and manipulation until it was his. He had outgrown that foolish yearning long ago, had given into the reality of his circumstances, and had focused on what he _could_ control. He had focused instead on everything else. 

Hux had accepted a life without the trappings of power that Ren took for granted, but then… then he had met Ren and everything had changed, because as blind to the force as he is, even _Hux_ can feel Ren’s power pouring off the other man every time they stand too close.

They always stand too close.

It’s a problem. More than the power and the sullen, angry attitude, the most problematic thing about Ren is that Hux always wants to be closer. He always wants to _touch_. Be it a lover’s caress or a chokehold, there is something in Hux that craves contact… but there are some things Hux will not bend to.

He will not be another man’s dog, performing tricks and slaving away in blind devotion.

He will not bow himself in Ren’s presence because Hux _knows_ that for all the power that comes so naturally to Ren, Hux’s accomplishments will always weigh more.

_Mean_ more.

He will not touch Kylo Ren. Not even when they stand too close. Not even when everything in Ren’s body language says that he can. That he should.

There are constants in the galaxy that cannot be changed. On a good day, Hux likes to think that he’s one of them.


	2. Chapter 2

He surfaces from his dreams in the same manner he always does: sweating; gasping; caught between shame and desire and fear. His cock, as always, is hard and leaking where it’s curved against his stomach, and part of Hux wants to die. Ever since Ren’s assignment to the Finalizer it’s been the same long, continuous dream that carries on so clearly that there are moments when Hux can’t separate his dreams from his wakeful moments.

Heart pounding, he focuses on steadying his breathing into something less desperate, wills his mind away from his erection and the straining need that comes with it. It’s one thing to dream about Ren… it’s quite another to give in to his body’s desire.

Even now, after weeks and months, Hux can’t let go of the false hope that he’ll break free of the hold that Ren has had over him - lust matched evenly with disdain, so much so that he can’t get the other man out of his head to save his life. 

It’s a curse. It’s _always_ been a curse.

For as long as he can remember, Hux has been plagued with vivid dreams. From the surreal to the mundane, they have always felt like _more_ \- more than the mere process of filtering through thoughts and memories.

It’s part of the reason that Hux had been so _sure_ of his status as a force-user when he was young. A page from an outdated, fanciful tome had lit the spark of his imagination, which in turn had burned bright enough that even his father’s harshest criticisms couldn’t snuff it out. Even now, the passage haunts him. 

It had touted the beauty of the force when it manifested through dreams… and a foolish, stupid child had grasped onto that hope and had refused to let go. That child had traced those words with his fingers and his eyes and his heart until they were burned into his very being, because _surely_ his own dreams were a sign. Surely, through training, he would be able to access his birthright - prophecies, communication, astral projection - it didn’t matter how his power would eventually present itself, just so long as it did. Just so long as that power was his.

It was a hope that he clung to for years until the actual evidence of his lacking was presented to him. He had asked to be tested, had begged… and yet, when he had held the results in his hands, it had felt like an attack from his father. Pointed and sharp. A cruel trick. Hux never came to forgive his father for being the bearer of bad news, but it certainly wasn’t the first time his father had wounded him, and it wouldn’t be the last.

A shrill alarm from the side table severs the last wispy bits of sleep from Hux’s consciousness until all that remains is the clarity and solid relief that comes with waking. There are no alarms in his dreams, afterall. Only Ren, with his large hands and his pale skin. 

Slipping into his uniform, Hux makes quick work of his morning routine: brushing his teeth, slicking his hair, settling his brow into a practiced arch of aloof disdain. Every aspect of his appearance serves a purpose, and if there is one thing that Hux excels at, it is fulfilling purpose. Be it leading the Starkiller Base towards glorious and bloody infamy, or his own aggressive climbing of ranks, he has proven time and time again that nothing in the galaxy can keep him from greatness.

Not even the searing glances that Ren throws his way, which never fail to send shivers down Hux’s spine, can move Hux from his path. His path, after all, is one of greatness, and the Ren that stares across rooms and over tables is merely a specter of who he is in Hux’s dreams.

He’s not the one that traces the juts and hollows of Hux’s skin, and he’s not the one that presses deep into places that few else have gone, leaving shivery slick evidence of all that they’ve done.

The Kylo Ren that hides behind a mask and rages for all to see isn’t part of the dream.

Kylo Ren is not his.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I hope that this isn't too frustrating a place to end, but this initial chapter is all about setup. If everything goes according to plan we'll delve into the realm of Hux's dreams in the next installation. Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
